


Pseudo-Black

by elaiel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Homelessness, charity - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 06:31:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15479679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elaiel/pseuds/elaiel
Summary: There was something about the man that was just not right. He put her in mind of the Blacks. She couldn’t have said exactly why but each time she saw him he called to mind one of that ill fated family.





	Pseudo-Black

There was something about the man that was just not right. He put her in mind of the Blacks. She couldn’t have said exactly why but each time she saw him he called to mind one of that ill fated family. Sirius, Narcissa, Tonks, even Bellatrix and little Teddy Lupin who would take over control of the Black Estate from Harry when he was twenty-one. 

Today the man was evidently having a bad day as, as he sat there, his expression switched from flat to manic or occasionally furious. It was definitely Bellatrix today. Today hardly anybody was putting money in the paper coffee cup on the pavement in front of him. No-one wanted to get that close.

Hermione sighed, added a final note to the calculations she was reviewing, closed her notebook and went to the counter. 

“Heya!” Cassie the proprietor of the tea room greeted her. “Another tea?”

Hermione flicked her gaze over the menu neatly chalked on the board behind the counter. 

“Can you do me a cup of tea and a cheese toastie to take away?”

Cassie tapped it into the till. “No problem. You gotta go?”

Hermione smiled. “No, it’s not for me, it’s for the man with the black beanie hat. He’s outside the bank again.”

“And it’s pissing it down out there.” Cassie agreed, nodding.

“I’m really worried about him when the weather changes. Most of the homeless go to the night shelter, but I’m sure he doesn’t and sleeps rough.”

Cassie nodded sympathetically. “Four pound eighty,” she said, then added thoughtfully, “I’m pretty certain he don’t use the night shelter. He’s been out there in the bank’s doorway enough times when I’ve been late cleaning up.”

Hermione flicked a glance towards the front of the tea shop then back to where Cassie had started to assemble the cheese toastie. 

“Oh, and another tea for me,” she added, “in a tea cup, I’ll just pop his out to him.”

Cassie put the sandwich in the grill and added the second cup of tea to the order on the till. “Six thirty.” She waited as Hermione counted it out from her purse then rang it all up. “Sit yourself down love, I’ll drop them over to you when they’re all done.”

Hermione reseated herself at her table and went back to her arithmantic calculations. Cassie coming over with a tray bearing a cup of tea and a paper bag interrupted her a few minutes later. 

“How’s the math going dear?” Cassie put the try down on the table. 

“Fine thank you.” Hermione looked at her bag. “Can you…?”

“I’ll keep an eye on your things while you nip out, no problem, we’re mid afternoon quiet as usual!” The woman laughed. 

Hermione picked up the paper bag carefully. 

“I put a lid on the tea." Cassie told her, straightening her apron, “and there’s sugars and a piece of fruitcake from me in there too. I reckon he’ll need all the calories he can get in this weather.” She nodded sagely. “Looks bulky under that blanket, but his face is thin as anything when you catch a look.” Hermione nodded in agreement. “All blue eyes and cheekbones.” Cassie finished.

It was still raining heavily, so Hermione shrugged into her coat before picking the bag up and leaving the tea shop. Mr Pseudo-Black was sat in an alcove, the gate to the alley between the bank and the Hospice charity shop being set slightly back from the buildings’ front walls. It did nothing to keep the rain off him, but did shield him from the worst of the wind. He was wrapped in a very damp blanket and had tented a battered piece of plasticised fabric banner over his head. (...OSING DO...% OFF AL...RYTHI...ST GO!)

“Uh, hi?”

The man’s gaze shot up. His face cycled through angry (Bellatrix), confused (Tonks) to cautious and quizzical (Sirius as Padfoot).

“You look cold.” She said. “I brought you a tea and something to eat.”

He looked her up and down, appeared to consider her for a moment, then settled on replying “thank you.”

His voice was hoarse with the trace of an accent. Not unexpected, there were quite a lot of people who had traveled to the UK when various Eastern European countries had joined the EU, and some of them had fallen on hard times the same as could happen to anyone. He reached out with both hands, one bare and white with cold, and one wearing a black leather glove, and took the paper bag. 

“Thank you.” He said again. 

“You’re welcome.” She replied.

She smiled at him and left, not wanting him to feel embarrassed into a show of forced gratitude. She kept a watch on him out of the corner of her eye though, once she was back in her seat. He made short work of the food, which steamed in the cold air, but sat with his hands wrapped around the cardboard cup of tea for a long time.


End file.
